Ba Li Dao Bags Twisted

A friend called from vacation in Bali.  He mentioned that there was an enormous white stork, in a tree across from where he was having his coffee.  It sounded like “Bali” in the background.  Another friend called later from his home in Perth.  I could hear remarkable bird calls in the background from where he was having his coffee that he no doubt took for granted.  I have magpies.  Magpies and sparrows.  Neither of them have calls worth listening for.  The magpie’s shriek is something to avoid.

My little one and I biked over the long way for burritos today.  I asked her if she remembered when we were biking last spring, in preparation to go to cycling in France.  What was your favorite memory of that trip, the biking part, I asked.  “I don’t know.” She replied.  Why do parents, even well intentioned parents, necessarily ask bovine questions that end up being conversation stoppers?  I offered a few moments that I fondly recalled and she agreed that those were good memories.   

I’d like my daughter to ride her bike to school.  It’s about two kilometers or so from home.  I used to do that and more.  But riding with her I realize how nervous I’d be if she were to do so.  Drivers of automobiles come up behind and beep loudly pushing you to the shoulder.  Roadside traffic throw open their doors randomly.   I uselessly imagine stopping in traffic and throwing down my bike to confront the next driver who rides his horn, though it doesn’t happen. 

The burrito lady adds up our order orally in Chinese, calculating all the extras.  Her colleague corrects her math on what an extra helping of beef costs.  This immediately makes me outrageously suspicious of the entire proceedings and I stick my nose into the discussion, confirming just what a side of beef costs.  My younger one calmly reminds me that they are simply calculating things.  I’ve exposed a flash of temper with my diction that wasn’t, for the nine thousandth time, necessary. 

Biking home, we’ve got the ba li dao bags twisted over our handlebars and we take it slow over each speed bump so the contents don’t wind up on the street.  It’s a lovely day.  But I’m thinking of the biking in Provence.  I’m listening for the birds of some other place.